


moments

by restless5oul



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: A little bit of fluff, Angst, Anthology Style, Bisexual Male Character, Cheating, Codependency, Infidelity, M/M, Nico's POV, Pining, Smut, Through the Years, Unhealthy Relationships, baby brocedes, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-07-28 18:01:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7650979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restless5oul/pseuds/restless5oul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>nico can trace the entangled mess of his and lewis' lives through a series of moments which both made and unmade them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. twelve + fifteen.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I've been working on this for what feels like forever, and I was originally going to post it all as a one shot, but it started to get pretty damn long, so I figured it would be best done as a chaptered fic, though the continuity is very separate and there are some large time jumps. Anyway this is my first go at writing these two, but I'm pretty fond of this. Consider this chapter a sort of prologue. Enjoy!

The first time Nico Rosberg lays eyes on Lewis Hamilton, he’s twelve years old and he’s fuming. In years to come, he’ll think about how fitting that was, how it set the tone for their whole relationship. Passionate and volatile. Twelve-year-old Nico Rosberg didn’t lose, not ever, and especially not to young upstarts from England, with not a drop of racing pedigree in his blood. Up on the podium, stood on the second place step rather than the first (where he belongs, he can remember thinking vividly), he finally got a look at his successor. And he doesn’t think he’s ever felt angrier. People had always remarked that Nico was unusually cool and mature for a racer his age, and he hated this Lewis Hamilton even more for turning that expectation on its head. Another thing an older Nico will come to think of as appropriate, that Lewis can turn him into someone he’s not, a stranger in his own skin, wonderful yet terrifying.

But as petty, childish anger faded, realisation set in. Racing Lewis Hamilton had been the first challenge, the first real race he’d ever had. And despite himself, he’d enjoyed it. And that calm, level headed driver that still sat within his tiny chest, recognised that this boy would make him better, would push him further than any of his previous rivals could. At twelve, he didn’t realise quite how far that will go.

So he pushed his anger aside, and turned to the boy next to him, testing his tentative English language skills;

“Congratulations.”

He held out his hand, which the Englishman took immediately in an age old gesture of a job well done.

“Next time I’ll have you,” he promised, the words defiant and sure. He half expected Lewis to be put off or surprised by the sudden switch from niceties, but his acceptance was swift, and the accompanying smile was devilish. Even then he knew that was the start of something, though he couldn’t work out what that would be.

 

*** 

They were fifteen by the time Nico realised what was happening too him. For all his wit, the five tongues he can switch between without batting an eyelid, the cars he knows inside out, and the careful calculation he carries himself with even at this age, he saw it too late. He’d hit the ground before he even knew he was falling.

Late nights in hotel rooms, empty pizza boxes strewn across the floor, pillows and duvets haphazardly discarded, the two teenagers ran riot, a whirlwind of laughter, play fighting and bitter rivalry. Their competition didn’t matter so much then, they liked the fight and the challenge (or was it just the excuse to pay closer attention to Lewis, Nico often wondered, that his greatest rival had to be his gravitational centre, all things revolved around him; his racing, his performance, his days on the tracks, and his nights in the hotels). Their closeness brought Nico so close to the edge so many times, scarcely able to stop himself from toppling over and his secrets spilling free from his mouth, each time years of practice, of learning the right thing to say, saved him.

Lewis had never been just a rival, just a friend, for so long, he realised. When they lay in bed at night, exhausted, their bony knees knocking together, arms flung across chests and heads curled towards one another, Nico wondered whether it was only his own heartbeat he could hear, hammering in his chest. Sometimes it was so loud he found it hard to believe that it wasn’t Lewis’ he was hearing too, beating in perfect time with his, just as unsure, and just as foolhardy. For even at fifteen he knew it was a foolhardy thing he was doing, falling in love with his friend, but he couldn’t stop his stomach from twisting every time their hands brushed, and he couldn’t stop his insatiable desire to just be with him, any chance he got.

“You’re my best friend, you know that Nico?” Lewis told him once as they lay side by side, heads resting against the same, soft pillow, arms folded beneath their heads, body language mirroring one another. His voice was so open, so much more so than usual.

“You’re mine too,” he replied, just as honestly. But there was something else sat on the tip of his tongue, desperate to be said out loud. But even then he couldn’t.

So he sat up and before he could talk himself out of it, leant over to press a kiss to his best friend’s lips. Soft, sure and sweet. He felt Lewis stiffen in surprise momentarily, as strands of Nico's own long, blonde hair fell into his face, but in a second he had wrapped one hand around the back of his neck to keep him in place, lest should he lose his nerve and break the kiss. It was Nico’s first kiss. It was not Lewis’ first.

“Is that what best friends do now?” Lewis joked when Nico finally pulled away, his cheeks flaming, breathing hard. He sat up straight scowling at the smirk on his best friend’s face, feeling annoyed that he had taken it in his stride while he felt that his pulse was never going to slow down, and that his head was never going to stop spinning.

“Don’t be an arsehole,” he muttered, grabbing the pillow he had been using and hitting him round the face. The tussle that ensued left them both lying on the floor, their sides aching from raucous laughter, and prompting a knock at the door (which would surely be one of their dads) telling them to keep it down. 

Lewis had pressed a finger to his lips, eliciting a giggle from Nico which he tried to stifle with his hand. And they both waited, the only sounds in the room their breathing, as the person behind the door eventually gave up, and there was the sound of footsteps walking away. They clasped their hands together, a show of camaraderie, and lay like that for a little while longer. In that moment Nico had felt like they were the only two people in the entire world that mattered.


	2. eighteen.

“Lewis, this is Vivian. My girlfriend.”

They had just turned eighteen, and what had started as stolen kisses under the covers late at night, had turned into a dangerous game that left them scrambling to cover each other’s mouths when they should have been asleep and gasping for air when all was done. Nico suspected that Lewis still thought of it as teenage experimentation, but for him it had gotten too real, and he couldn’t have that. It would be the death of them both, and that day marked a point of no return, something that shifted the axis of Nico’s world, throwing everything off balance. Even when it settled, he couldn’t remember how to return things to the way they were, the next day he woke to a world he didn’t even recognise.

He’d known Vivian for years, their families knew each other, and he didn’t have to pretend so much around her (well apart from one thing). She was smart, sweet, and gentle, and in some ways he did love her, ways which would grow until she became a permanent fixture in his life. His love for her was soft and warm, it made him feel safe, it curled its way around him like a cocoon, a chrysalis of protection. It was a stark contrast to the way he loved Lewis. The tendrils of his love for his best friend were dark, blackened by years of secrecy and repression, they worked their way into every atom of his being, like hooks on his flesh; painful to hold onto, but even more agonising to tear away.

He wasn’t sure either of them would understand this, and he wasn’t sure he could ever articulate it out loud. The look on Lewis’ face when he introduced Vivian, a look that reminded him of the expression he got when Nico hurled a particularly nasty comment his way confirmed his suspicions. The look was the same as the one he wore when he got ready to throw one back. It was only there for a fleeting moment, but it was there.

“It’s great to meet you finally, I’ve heard tons about you,” Lewis said, charmingly, but it was a lie. Nico had mentioned Vivian properly only once or twice, maybe, but every time he tried to bring her up he’d dropped the subject, either because Lewis asked him to, or he saw that he was about to. He watched carefully as his girlfriend and his best friend chatted amicably for a few minutes, mainly about himself, but Lewis almost politely inquired about what she did, and she teased him about any girlfriends he might have. It was an odd feeling, watching the two of them interact, they were the two spheres of his world that should never coalesce, but here they were, and he hadn’t died from it. But it left him thinking, his bottom lip grasped between his index finger and his thumb, until he heard his father calling for him and took it as an appropriate cue to excuse himself and Vivian.

“Lewis is really nice, I can see why you like him,” Vivian commented, in a seemingly offhand manner, but Nico’s heart thudded in pure terror as he briefly entertained the idea that there was more to those words than was first apparent. But she said nothing more.

It would have been too much to hope that Lewis would respond to the meeting quite so well. Nico found him after that day’s race in the motorhome, his helmet on his lap, which he was studying with an intense ferocity that could only be meant for something, someone, else. He almost walked away, but like always, he found himself propelled towards him, the door swinging shut behind him, sealing the two of them in the room that suddenly felt far too small.

“Hey,” he said, awkwardly, catching his friend’s attention finally.

“Shouldn’t you be with Vivi?” he shot back, lightning quick in his retort. Nico couldn’t help but outwardly cringe at Lewis’ use of his nickname for her, a sight he was sure gave his best friend far too much satisfaction.

“Lewis don’t,” he said, trying to keep his voice calming, but only sounding patronising. It wasn’t like Lewis to start their fights, unless Nico had done something very very wrong. And he was starting to think that he had.

“Don’t what? Don’t be angry? Don’t be mad at you? Grow up Nico,” his tone was mocking, and it stung like a slap to the face. He was more embarrassed than angered by Lewis’ reaction, embarrassed he hadn’t guessed this could be the only outcome of him and Vivian’s meeting. But it was easier to push the embarrassment aside, and give in to the hot anger that had begun to bubble inside his chest, knocking at his rib cage, asking to be let free

“I need to grow up? That’s rich. You’ve known for ages that we’ve been dating, there’s no need to get all worked up about it now. Don’t be so pathetic, it makes you look desperate,” the words spilled forth from his mouth, fiery and defiant. He wished he hadn’t added that last comment, but it was gone before he’d even thought about saying it. Avoiding looking at Lewis with a false air of superiority, he began stacking the towels on the table viciously, grabbing and folding them so aggressively he ran the risk of tearing a hole in one.

“You’re a fucking dick,” he heard the mutter from behind him, not having realised that Lewis had risen in his frenzy, and not having time to turn himself around before he was pulled by the shoulder so he was facing Lewis. He had even less time to register what was going on before Lewis raised one fist and swung, making contact with Nico’s jaw with a sickly satisfying thud. He dropped the towel without realising he had done so and Nico could only stare at his friend for a few beats, before the pain and anger kicked in, tenfold, and he used his forearm to shove him against the opposite wall, pinning him in place. All his movements were reflexive, intimacy meant he had every inch of Lewis’ body committed to memory, he hadn’t even needed to think about it, his arm moving blindly and almost of its own accord.

“You’re just jealous,” he said through gritted teeth, his nose desperately close to Lewis’ as he leant in, face fiery with rage. Meeting his eyes, a look so sharp that it stung, Lewis tried to throw him off, but Nico just pushed him back down.

“Believe me, I wouldn’t be jealous of you in a million years. Don’t flatter yourself. Fuck! I pity you Nico,” he spat back, with all the venom he could muster. There was a part of Nico that ignited when he saw that he’d gotten a rise out of Lewis, to realise that he had the power to make Lewis lose the control that he usually exercised so well. But the rest of him recoiled, hating the contrast between the anger he spoke with now, and the gentle hush that he used when they were alone and the sun had gone down. He hated hearing his name like that, like it was a dirty word, like Lewis couldn’t get it out of his mouth quick enough, like it was foul and poisonous. He hated that it sounded the way it did in Nico’s head.

“Oh yeah, and why’s that?” he taunted, trying to deflect, trying not to let Lewis know that he was wounded, turning any sadness he felt into anger. A conversion that took all of his might. 

“Why would I be jealous of someone who’ll never be as good as me? Because let’s face it, I’ll always be better than you, and everyone knows it. And you’ll never be as good as your dad. So yeah, you might have the money and the name, but you don’t have the talent,” Lewis’ words knocked the air from Nico’s lungs, and for a second he was left breathless and speechless, his arm fell away from Lewis’ chest, hanging uselessly at his side. He was staring at Lewis like he was a stranger, _he’s just hurt, he doesn’t mean it_ , he tried to tell himself, but the insult had cut, and it had cut deep. Looking as much of a fool as he felt, he let Lewis pushed past him roughly and walk away, staggering slightly from the contact, the small smirk on his face pulling on his heartache, like a crack forming down the middle of his chest.

Nico had said just as awful things to Lewis before, usually Lewis responded by gifting Nico a black eye, something he wore with an odd mixture of pride and revulsion. This was different, his words, a weapon he didn't deploy often, had been unusually cruel, and it was then he realised how much the Vivian thing had bothered Lewis. And the guilt was enormous, what of it he could feel through his own upset at having all of his insecurities hurled into his face, things he had told Lewis in confidence, thinking he had understood.

Sniffing lightly, he’d been too wrapped up in his own turmoil to reassert himself and stop the tears from falling. The single one that made its way down his cheek felt cold against his flushed skin, and he moved to wipe it hastily, and even out of the corner of his eye he knew Lewis had seen. But he was out of the room before Lewis could say another word, he avoided speaking to his father, and even Vivian, he dodged questions about the bruise that was forming on his cheek, and when he let Vivian into his bed last night, for the first time, he fought to stop himself from calling out Lewis’ name, burying his face in her hair, loving her for what she wasn’t, and hating himself for all he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was decidedly more angsty than the last, but I still hope you enjoyed it, and if it's any consolation, the next isn't so sad :) Thanks for reading!


	3. twenty three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably my favourite chapter that I've written so far, so I really hope you enjoy it!

Lewis and Nico were nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two and twenty-three before they re-entered each other’s lives, properly at least. Years apart, a distance both imposed by the two of them and by forces beyond their control, had created a gulf between them that Nico had always considered permanent. Though in the back of his mind he knew, he hoped, that one day they’d both be competing alongside each other in Formula 1, the fissure in their relationship, which had first appeared on the day he’d introduce Lewis to Vivian, and continued to grow with each fight and cold shoulder, and by the time they left each other to race in different countries, he believed it too wide to ever be closed.

In Formula 1, they saw more of each other, Nico didn’t know how it was for Lewis, but being friends, and friends only in the traditional sense of the word, not their twisted teenage version of friends, half in love with and half hating each other, was equally the worst and best thing that happened to him in his young adulthood. He still had Vivian, he always had Vivian, but Lewis began to hover on his peripheral again, always catching his eye across the room at driver’s meetings, chatting amicably with him during track parades, sitting with him at official events. It never went any further than that. And that was torture. To have him so close, to still be able to remember what it had been like to hear his name whispered when he was unable to stop himself, to remember the feel of his skin, his hands, his lips, but to have him beyond his reach, like a wisp of a memory, fading and re-materialising, just beyond his grasp. Too many times he caught himself staring, eyes boring into the side of his former best friend’s skull, desperately looking for any hint that it might be the same for him, that he hated this immovable distance between them just as much as he did. He wondered if he too clung onto the brief moments of contact, their shaken hands, the pats on the back, the smiles he shot in his direction. They were everything during the couple of years in which they found themselves circling each other, maintaining the distance that seemed to have been imposed by the universe itself, respecting the boundaries that had been placed there before either of them could protest. Nico was like a beggar, a starving man, taking anything he could get, and taking it for all it was worth.

If he’d known what Nico now knew at thirty-one, he’d have been able to see it coming, he’d realise that this was how they worked, the process was just longer this time, this first time. Apart and then together, push and then pull, a weird kind of magnetism worked at the centre of their relationship, they had to come together eventually, and when they did it was cataclysmic. 

2008 was the year that Nico finally found himself on the podium next to Lewis, he knew his car was not as good as his, that he had no shot of truly challenging him, but god it felt good be up there with him. To feel, just for a moment, that he was his equal again. Climbing out of his car, his mind flashed through a million and one memories from his karting days, embracing Lewis, congratulating him, hoisting up trophies with him, celebrating with him, being with him. The memories were jarring, and the sense of nostalgia was so tremendous, he felt both saddened and comforted by the thoughts, remembering the naïve happiness and drawing on it, but all the while regretting the state things had got to. 

But all that paled when he heard Lewis enter the room, finally, and rush over to him.

“Congratulations man,” were the quiet, but triumphant words he said, as he dropped all he was holding and took him in his arms, sharing in his joy at finally getting to hold a Formula 1 trophy. Laughing, their arms wrapped around each other tight, too tight, Nico felt like all his limbs were on fire, he felt like he was falling into this gap that had opened up between them. But it didn’t matter because Lewis was falling with him, and the distance swallowed them both up. Everything about their jubilation felt rebellious, subversive, like something they shouldn’t be doing, because he knew what this had done to him, having Lewis in his arms again. Awakening parts of his soul he’d keep quiet for so long, burning and raging within his chest, his stomach, his head, and he didn’t know how to extinguish them. But right then he didn’t care. 

“I’ve missed you,” he couldn’t help but whisper, as loud as he dared, praying that the cameras didn’t pick up this small piece of honesty, of vulnerability. When Lewis pulled away he wore a sad smile, one that perfectly expressed how Nico was feeling on the inside.

They didn’t have the chance to say anything else until they were ushered out onto the podium, the sound of the British national anthem ringing in their ears, their prizes being lifted up into the air, cheering and applause washing over them.

“I’ve missed you too,” Lewis finally managed to say as he pulled Nico into a one armed hug, patting him on the chest in a seemingly platonic gesture. The hand over his heart made it pick up its pace, and when he looked over at his friend on the top step, he was hit by a sensation he’d first felt at fifteen, the swooping feeling in his stomach as he fell and fell, and he didn’t hit the ground until he found Lewis at the bar of the driver’s hotel that evening, drinking a toast to his victory.

“Feels good up there doesn’t it?” he’d said when Nico had found the courage to sidle over, the alcohol sloshing about in his own head making the decision easier. In the future, he often wondered what would have happened ig he hadn’t drunk so much champagne, if he hadn’t had that push that led to a chain of events which would dictate most of his waking thoughts for years to come. But there were no ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’ that night, only Lewis, and everything he wanted back.

“I could get used to it,” he’d replied, laughing. There was a companionable silence that hung over them, but it was laden with words unsaid, making it weighty, though not uncomfortable.

“I really meant it when I said I missed you. We used to be so close,” Lewis finally settled on. And Nico couldn’t work out whether he meant the close that the rest of the world saw, the best friends who raced together, joked together, played together, or the close that they really were, excruciatingly intimate, their souls knitted together in a clumsy cross stitch they couldn’t unpick.

“We did,” was all he could murmur in return. A beat passed, a heavy moment on which everything rested.

“It could be like that again,” that was all Nico wanted to hear, and the dark look in Lewis’ eyes told him that he meant it too. The room was still full of people, and Nico knew that he had to be careful, he couldn’t just reach out and take his hand, or touch the soft skin on the back of his neck, like he wanted to. But it didn’t stop him from saying;

“I would like that, I want that,” another pause, “I want you.”

Minutes, or possibly just seconds later, they fell onto the soft sheets of Lewis’ bed, their bodies sinking into the mattress as they grappled for purchase on each other’s clothes, fingers scratching unmarked skin as they fought to pull them off, each kiss messier than the last, desperate, needy, because they’d waited for so long, so long that they hadn’t realised that they’d been waiting for this at all. But Nico felt how right it was, though it was wrong in so many other ways, how this was exactly where he was supposed to be, the only place he existed fully and truly.

Though their bodies had grown and changed over years, Nico spied tattoos he’d never seen before, and scars that were fresh, but they still knew exactly what to do. Nico’s lips traced the familiar line of his collarbone, the grooves, the feel of his skin exactly as they had been years ago, in return he felt Lewis’ thumbs ghost over the outline of his protruding hipbone, his deft fingers settling there perfectly. And he knew, in the deepest recesses of his mind, that he’d recognise that touch anywhere, at any time.

There’s a moment when they both pause, breathing heavily, heads spinning, just looking at each other, whether to recognise the fact that this is really happening or to drink in the moment, Nico can’t decide, and it’s then that he realises that he’s trembling. His usually steady fingers are shaking lightly, in both anticipation and a deep set anxiety that this will all melt away like it did before.

“I love you,” Lewis says, his words as honest as ever. And its odd that even after so many years apart, they should be strangers, acquaintances at most, but Nico knows that he means it, and that it’s true, all that was all it took for things to return to their natural state. 

“I love you,” Nico says, no ‘too’ or ‘also’ patched on the end, because he wants Lewis to hear it fully, purely, unconditionally. In every way he means it. He reaches up with his shaking hands and touches Lewis’ face, closing his eyes to remember how he feels so alive, so on the edge, completely consumed by his love for this man. 

The moment passes, and in their flurry of half suppressed moans, of slick limbs battling against each other, of bodies so closely entwined that they lose themselves in each other, Nico comes undone in Lewis’ arms, finally landing after all of his falling. He thinks its because that gap which separated them all those years is gone, it’s a mistake, that chasm is as much a part of them as their self destructive obsession with each other. All he’s done is hit the bottom, and dragged Lewis down with him.


	4. twenty four.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay, I'm on holiday at the moment so I've had limited internet access and not much time for writing, but regardless I hope you enjoy this! :)

They’re twenty-four when Nico struck by how impersonal their relationship has become, when he thinks back to the impossible closeness of his teenage years, he doesn’t recognise who they are, and what they’re doing. But he does it anyway. Though in the depths of his murky heart, he yearns for so much more. There’s also the realisation that there is a dysfunctional sort of pattern, a routine almost, to what they do. Their jobs and lives keep them too busy for them to spend any length of time together, so Nico holds onto what he can get, taking it with both hands, a vice-like grip. Their interactions are limited, brief friendly conversations in the paddock, a few dinners caught the night before and after races, but all these occasions were coloured by a carefulness that took all of Nico’s willpower to maintain, he had Vivian waiting for him at the back of his garage, and Lewis had Nicole standing at the back of his. This is the part of their unspoken arrangement that grates on Nico the most, sometimes when he returns home to Monaco, he looks at her and there’s always a moment where he think she knows, that she must know, because she knows him so well. But she never says anything, and neither does Nico. There’s a part of him that wonders if she’d understand, he’s not even sure how to define what he feels, so he’d never be able to explain it to her.

Taking what he can isn’t much, sometimes it’s days before they can find time to be alone, sometimes it’s weeks. Always hanging over them, is the knowledge that their current relationship exists in a state of impermanence, there’s no way it could carry on that way for too long, sooner or later one of them would crave more, or grow disinterested. And Nico thinks he knows which pole he would gravitate to, and which Lewis would reach first. There’s none of the immutable closeness they had when they were kids, and none of the toxicity that would come later, none of the co-dependency. This year or so, their relationship is mostly physical, though there’s an underlying need, an emotion that drives them and stops things from becoming too detached or clinical, there’s no declarations of love whispered beyond that first night, and mostly they just fuck, but Nico finds that he needs that, he needs to be close to Lewis, in whatever way he can. This desire he later realises was like a prophecy, a sign of things to come, that need to just matter to each other, to be near each other, to exist with each other.

There is one occasion, when things regress almost, back to that stage when it was hard to tell where one of them started and the other began, the closeness that was both physical and emotional. Nico supposes that was always there, lingering in the background, out of sight, it was simply that neither of them chose to act on that anymore. Best to keep things simple, he often thought, though things were far from it. It's the one occasion that makes him realise how much things have changed, and how much he hates it.

They both happened to be in London, alone, for a few days, so it was easy enough for Lewis to text Nico his hotel and his room number, along with a time. In the end he’s early, but he doesn’t think fifteen minutes mattered so much, the hotel is understated by Lewis’ standards, small, tucked away in the depths of residential London, the streets around it so empty and quiet that Nico felt like the last man on earth. It’s perfect in that way, it made him feel more removed from everything in his life, the things which make what he’s doing feel so bad, so wrong.

He half expected that Lewis won’t be in when he knocks on door number 14, and there was a lengthy pause in which he wiped his palms on his trousers, the old feeling of anxiety creeping up his spine, last minute nerves he often felt those days. The door does open, but the man stood behind it didn’t look the way he expected. The sly smile, the eyes that shined with anticipation, they were both gone, instead he looked tired, worn down, defeated even.

“Lewis?” he asked, startled by his appearance, he hadn’t seen that look on his face in years, the one that told him something was definitely wrong. Unpleasantly, it also let it him know how little time they actually spent together.

“Ssshh, just come inside will you,” he said hastily, using his hands to try shut up his friend, there was always the risk they would be seen, something that proved thrilling in the heat of the moment, but was otherwise horrifying and terror inducing. Nico obliged, shutting the door behind him, ignoring how nice the hotel room was, something he might otherwise have commented on, his mind instead solely focused on the man who had his back to him.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, and then added, “Is it Nicole?”

With a selfishness that made him sick with self hatred, Nico’s first worry had been that someone had found out, and that this was all ending, that this small escape from the pleasant yet monotonous hum of his off track life would be stolen from him. In that moment of fear, it became apparent how much he needed it.

“No, no, it’s not Nicole,” he said, a little absentmindedly, pressing a hand to his forehead, a bone-weary gesture that made him seem older than he actually was. Again with his selfishness returning, Nico was secretly glad Lewis hadn’t tried to hide or deny the fact that he was hurting from him.

“Then what is it?” he persisted, frowning lightly, though this wasn’t what he had come there for, stirred by an old care and genuine fondness for the man in front of him, a feeling he thought perhaps wasn’t as dead as he had first assumed, all those other thoughts were driven from his mind. It was both a surprise and not, to discover that he still cared, which he knew he did in some capacity, but he didn’t think it would hurt to see Lewis upset after all these years, not this much anyway. Feelings from his adolescence which had been lying dormant stirred, brought rushing to the surface at the sight of the sad smile on his friend’s face. Then, he wouldn’t have dared admit it was love, though he knew very well that he had once loved Lewis, but love was certainly what it was, love that was twisted and confused, but love all the same.

“It’s just…some _things_ people have been saying,” he shrugged, motioning ever so slightly to the laptop which lay open on the bed, the light from it illuminating the headboard.

“What kind of _things_?” Nico asked, an unpleasant idea of what he had been reading beginning to gnaw at his stomach. Often falling foul of the mistake of googling his own name, of reading comments too closely, he could have perhaps guessed what kind of things Lewis had seen. And judging from his whole demeanour, they weren’t pretty.

“Why don’t you take a look yourself?” he said, his voice bordering on casual, even bored, but it all came across as false, undeniably false as he gestured towards the laptop again. Hesitantly, but driven by curiosity, and a need to understand what had caused such a reaction on Lewis’ face, Nico sat on the bed and looked down to read what was on the screen.

There was a sinking of the mattress that told him that Lewis had taken a seat next to him, but he didn’t look up, too horrified by what he was reading. Engrossed, unable to look away, but sickened, he stared at the hateful messages Lewis had found in the comments of a news article, some were stupid, some were just plain rude, and others bordered on discriminatory or racist. Nico had seen unsavoury things written about himself before, and while they had bothered him, they hadn’t inspired an unpleasantly churning in his stomach, like his body was rejecting what he was reading. He didn’t know whether it was because these people were choosing to target the colour of Lewis’ skin, or because it was him that they were targeting at all. There was only so much he could stomach before he can feel the bile rising in his throat.

“What the fuck?” he whispered, trying to verbalise his disgust, he looked over at Lewis who was staring at the laptop rather than Nico, the view of only his profile making it impossible to decipher his expression. If the words were enough to wound Nico, he couldn’t imagine what they’re doing to Lewis, so he slammed the lid of the laptop down, a feeble attempt to protect Lewis from what he’d already seen.

“Yeah, I know,” was the mumbled reply, so quiet it blends into the sounds of the curtains curling in the breeze and the distant sounds of footsteps out in the corridor. He placed his head in his hands for a moment, and Nico was taken aback by how small he looked, a world champion, and now this. When they were younger, Lewis tended to retreat into himself, into sullen, hurt silences, if he was ever upset, and the effort it took a teenage Nico to drag him from them was tiring. But, as he so often forgot, this was adult Lewis, burdened by the insurmountable pressures of his job, preferring to crack rather than to let it build inside.

With a violent swiftness, he strode from the bed to the dressing table, and in one deft motion, practised almost, he swiped his hand across the surface, sending everything which had been sat there flying to the floor. The sound of everything crashing to the ground made Nico jump, and he was on his feet, though he didn’t move to intervene just yet, too surprised by the outburst. It’s only when Lewis drove his fist into the mirror, the glass cracking, that the feeling returned to his legs and he was able to move. With an aggression similar to the one Lewis had used to attack the furniture, Nico grabbed at both of his arms, pulling them back to drag him away with from the broken glass. There was a moment when he fought back, tussling and trying to pull himself from the taller man’s grip, all of the hurt and pain that reading those awful words had caused fuelling the fire within him.

“Lewis, Lewis,” was all he said, just his name, using the words to reach out to him, past the haze of anger, willing him to listen and just stop. Because it hurt to see him like that, it reminded Nico of the intense, consuming way he used to love Lewis, and that scared him because he was so sure he was past that. His soft words worked, because Lewis stopped struggling, he turned to Nico, with no tears in his eyes and no words on his lips, maybe because this kind of hurt cut deeper, he could still see it, though he was trying hard to hide it. Lewis’ mask faltered, his expression shifts from anger to bitter, bitter upset, and Nico was there in an instant, releasing his forearms and wrapping an arm around his shoulder so he could lead him to sit down, away from the damage he’d created.

They sat on the edge of the bed, in an awkward half-embrace, Lewis allowed himself the small comfort of resting his head against Nico’s chest, letting out a long sigh, a sound that was older than his twenty-four years, and Nico knew he should say something, anything. But the mind of the man he was holding was unfamiliar to him, it had changed since he was last able to work himself into its depths, since he was allowed to know what sat in the darkest corners, and what hopes lingered in his wildest daydreams. He doesn’t know Lewis like he used to, _but oh_ how he wanted to know him again, how he wanted to be able to know exactly what to say to help him, to cheer him up, he wanted to know more than just how to make Lewis gasp in a way that sent shivers down his spine. In that moment he knows what they have isn’t going to be enough, not for him, he wasn’t enough for Lewis. So he held him tighter, hugged him closer, because that’s all he knew how to do, he only knew Lewis’ body, the only way he could be with him anymore was physical, touch alone was all he had.

“They’re wrong,” Lewis finally mumbled, his words stifled by the thick material of the jumper Nico wore.

“Of course they are,” Nico replied, his response automatic, his voice low. He could do nothing but agree.

“They’re fucking idiots,” he continued, as though Nico had said nothing, a bitter laugh colouring his tone, turning it into something darker, a promise of vengeance, “I’ll show them.”

Lewis lifted his head to look at Nico, as though he was making sure that he heard, and there’s a part of Nico, left over from his adolescent infatuation that glowed with pride, completely enamoured with his determination and grit. But the darker part of his mind, the part that hated what they had, and hated who he was to Lewis, that part of him glowered with teeming jealousy and a hint of resentment. Nico, to whom each insult and criticism felt like a blow that dented and bruised his carefully constructed armour, could never do what Lewis did, could never turn such unbridled hatred in motivation. The old childhood comparisons which had long plagued him returned, reminding him that he was never going to measure up to the man he held in his arms, to the man he still wanted, and still yearned to learn how to love again.

Nico leant down to kiss Lewis with a gentle ferocity, injecting the pride and admiration he did feel into it, and being careful to bury the uglier feelings deep within. They still fucked, in the end, as they’d intended to do when they arranged to meet up, but it’s different that time. At least it felt different to Nico. There’s a hollowness that settled in his chest, an old scar he hadn’t felt since he was a teenager, for the first time he felt the lack of feeling in Lewis’ kisses and touches and was saddened by how out of reach he felt. Of course there’s lust there, and attraction too, but it’s not like it was when they were teenagers, not like it was that night when Nico finally got his podium, it’s not like he wants. As Lewis climaxed with a shudder, Nico’s name on his lips, all he could do was stare at the ceiling, the gnawing emptiness clawing at his chest. That impossible gap between them had returned, though he was beginning to think it had never disappeared and he’d simply been stubbornly ignoring its existence. He wanted to love Lewis, and he wanted him to love him in return, but at twenty-four that felt so beyond his reach, like he was reaching out beyond the cliff’s edge, the fear of falling keeping him from stretching and finding that within his grasp once again.


	5. twenty eight.

It’s at twenty-eight when there’s another shift in their relationship, and foolishly Nico thought it would be for the better. All of their childhood dreams realised, Formula One teammates at last. It’s the actualisation of all their late night conversations they had in stuffy hotel rooms in Italy, fantasies they had when their lives were entangled in the best way, back when he found it difficult to see where he began and where Lewis ended. The waters they’ve been traversing since then had grown murkier, difficult to see where they were and where they were headed, so he should have known it’d be nothing like he’d imagined when he was young and naïve.

For years their clandestine meetings had grown more and more infrequent, they’d make their excuses; they were too busy, too tired, too caught up in their real lives. Because Nico couldn’t even think of whatever they had as real anymore, it didn’t feel real, it felt intrinsically detached from the rest of his life, like a hyper-realistic fever dream that came and went with no sign it had ever been there. He couldn’t think of any real reason why they carried on, maybe he held on in the vain hope that someday they’d return to how they had once been, or maybe he just didn’t want to bother with the inconvenience of having to sit Lewis down and tell him it was over. In an age old cliché, his mind knew it was ridiculous, stupid, and reckless, but his body told an entirely different story, it was drawn towards Lewis’ in every sense of the word, he just couldn’t say no.

All the while he found it impossible to know what Lewis thought or felt. For someone so skilled at reading people, Lewis was the one person who was unfailingly beyond him. There were flashes, a smile or a look, but they revealed very little. What he did when they were twenty-eight was the first time he thought he might know how he felt.

The announcement came in September, that Lewis would be racing beside him the next year, they had talked very little about where he might be going for the next season, Nico had rather blindly assumed that he’d stay at McLaren, and that he’d be racing against someone else in 2013. Years of practice had taught him not to get his hopes up where Lewis was concerned, but this, _this_ , was something else, and he couldn’t stop his heart from jumping when he found out, a golden ray of optimism shining forth, it made him impulsive enough to reach for his phone and call Lewis.

“Why didn’t you say something to me sooner?” was his first question after the greetings and congratulations were out of the way, he was smiling, no other man would have been so happy to be paired with a world champion. But he was granted the fortune that he could always blame his unerring cheer on nostalgia, and the fact that their careers were panning out as they had planned them all those years ago.

“I wanted to, but I couldn’t, contractual obligations and all that, Toto said,” Lewis explained, and Nico thought he could hear a hint of a smile in his words, maybe he was looking for it, but Lewis sounded more like his fifteen-year-old best friend than he had done in a long, long time.

“Oh yeah, of course,” Nico said, shrugging in that inherently French way he’d acquired growing up in Monaco, “It’ll be weird to have you as my teammate, it’ll be just like we’re kids again, in go karts.”

“Yeah, but weird in a good way right?”

“Yes, in a good way. It’s what we always said we wanted, wasn’t it?”

A heavy feeling of nostalgia settled over him, an unsettling déjà vu, and he knew Lewis too was thinking back to all those wishful conversations they’d had. And there was only one question on Nico’s lips, but it carried with it a pitiful sort of desperation he didn’t want to show. So he opted for beating around the bush, and posing the question in a roundabout sort of way.

“Why though? McLaren are much better than us, why switch?” his voice was tentative, cautiously testing the waters. The temptation to ask if he had factored into his decision at all was immense, but he didn’t want Lewis to know how badly he wanted that notion to be true. Only the need to save face keeps him from asking.

“They won’t always be better than us,” Lewis says, after a small pause. And Nico can’t help but think how much he likes the sound of that, _us_ , not meaning the dysfunctional, sporadic relations they try to keep up even though they shouldn’t, but the two of them, teammates at last. It’s not a secret, like so much of what goes on between the two of them is, it’s public and news for the whole world to see, and he loves it more than he should. Perhaps because he’s waited so long to be with Lewis openly again, and being his teammate is the closest he’s going to get. It was a possessive feeling that unfurled in his chest, though he knew he had no right to feel that way.

“I guess that’s true,” he conceded, and unable to stop himself the question finally slipped out, “Was I anything-…”

“Were you anything to do with my decision?” Lewis finished the sentence for him, like he was waiting for this question, he probably was. Embarrassed and abashed, Nico sucked in a breath, fighting to keep his feelings out of his voice, the line crackled momentarily, but besides that it was silent.

“Yes,” the word came out more breathless than he meant it to, it’s the kind of yes he used when Lewis would call him and ask if he was doing anything that weekend, the kind of yes he used when Lewis cornered him at a post-race party and invited him back to his room, the kind of yes he reserves for the man on the other end of the phone alone. The word came out of his mouth, but it belonged to Lewis.

“I’d be a liar if I said no,” Lewis finally admitted, and the honesty is surprising.

“Really?” he didn’t mean to sound so shocked, and he’s not one to be caught unawares. Usually his mind is ticking away, one part on the conversation, the other anticipating where the conversation is going so he knows what to say before the question has even been asked. He’s a careful man, but Lewis makes him stumble, makes him falter, and when he’s not forcing himself to tread cautiously, he gets lost.

“Yeah,” he said with a soft laugh, a tender sound he didn’t hear too often. A laugh he hoped was reserved for him alone.

He wanted to say something else, to find the words that would have adequately expressed the strange churning of emotions rattling about in his abdomen, but he doesn’t think they’ve created the words for that feeling yet. It’s a cautious sort of hope, tainted with cynicism, and there’s yearning too, but mostly it’s a lot of anticipation. That hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach, that let him know that they’re on the edge again, of whatever the next phase of their relationship will be.

“Anyway, I should probably get going, there’s way too much press and PR stuff to do today,” Lewis finally broke their silence, sounding a little discomfited, a feeling detectable only in the edges of his words.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Nico said and made to say goodbye, but felt he should add, “I am glad you know, to be teammates, really I am.”

“It’ll be nice to beat you on level footing again,” Lewis joked, that soft laugh returning.

“Not if I can help it.”

“Whatever you say, see you later Nico.”

“Yeah, goodbye.”

Hanging up, he stared at the phone in his hand for a moment, feeling both reminiscent and expectant. By now he could see it was the same old story, the push and the pull, like the two of them were an elastic band, and in the last ten years they’d been stretched to their limit, and now, _now_ , they were hurtling back towards each other at breakneck speed. But the impact couldn’t come soon enough.


	6. twenty nine.

They were twenty-nine when they found that being teammates in Formula One was both eerily similar and completely different to their time spent as teammates in go karting. There were things one of them would say or do, that would trigger a jolting wave of déjà vu in Nico, sending him back ten or more years into the past. He shouldn’t have been surprised that the same fierce competition which had gripped them back then, returned to take the two of them in its grasp once again. Driven to their core, it seemed inevitable that they would clash eventually, Nico knew that he fought to avoid that, but he didn’t know whether he could say the same for Lewis. The thing that seemed to save them each time was a bone deep respect that had been forged over the years, he couldn’t bring himself to destroy the fragile foundations of their relationship, as much as the post-race adrenaline told him he wanted to. It hurt, sometimes, to hold all of that inside, there were times he felt like a spring, wound tight, his limbs and bones crushing in on each other desperate to protect what he had with Lewis, battling feelings of jealousy and inferiority.

He was reminded of what had been clear even when they were teenagers, now they were on equal footing, and after a year racing as teammates everyone knew, and everyone could see that Nico wasn’t as talented as Lewis. He wasn’t a fast, he just wasn’t as good. He could challenge him, he could battle with him, using the edges he did have over him, and on a good day he would win, but he couldn’t hope for good days all the time. It made him feel like he was twelve years old again, losing for the first time, a harsh reality check on his own mortality.

That was the disadvantage of their history. Each of Lewis’ victories, each clumsy comment in an interview, every slight and snub, they all felt personal. If they were coming from anyone else, he would only ever see it as the usual driver to driver rivalry, but his feelings clouded everything. The wounded part of him saw it as attacks from childhood friend to childhood friend, rival to rival, lover to lover. Sometimes it was only knowing that he could fuck out his frustration that sedated him. It was a routine that they’d fallen into with relative ease, a respite from the pressures on and off the track, something that let them be Lewis and Nico, not Lewis Hamilton and Nico Rosberg.

Whereas before his feelings for Lewis, his true feelings, had got buried in the distance and the cold apathy with which they had slept together, now it was obscured by the ugly emotions of his inferiority complex. Part of him didn’t even want to admit they were there, but he could always feel them lurking beneath the surface, just out of sight. It wasn’t the nights they spent together in hotel rooms that brought them to his attention, it was the stupid things, the silly things. Like the smirk on Lewis' face when he stepped out of the simulator having finally set a better time than Nico, which served as a reminder of the admiration he held for Lewis’ grit. Or when they were sat in debriefs and meetings and someone prompted that wide grin, the one where his whole face smiled, and Nico would feel a tightening in his chest, a kaleidoscope of butterflies let loose in his stomach, sensations more commonly associated with a schoolboy crush. These feelings he could hide from others, but not so easily from himself.

They were hard to recall when he wasn’t with Lewis, when he was more susceptible to darker, more intrusive thoughts. The summer break of 2014 proved a toxic time, triggering his poor judgement and recklessness, left to stew over the times when Lewis had cold shouldered him, pushed him out of track limits. What played on his mind the most was what he had said in Monaco, ‘ _Nico and I aren’t friends’_ , that had stung, that had cut, and he couldn’t let it go. He’d thought they’d been managing, that it wasn’t all gone yet, but the tension must have been too much for Lewis. They could fuck, but they couldn’t be friends, they couldn’t be anymore than teammates and rivals.

He had the Championship lead, but for how long, and at what cost. All those thoughts, that it was a matter of time before he and Lewis clashed, that he’d ruined things so badly that Lewis didn’t even think of them as friends, those thoughts clawed at his mind constantly, scratching at the already wounded surface of his brain. A familiar guilt returned to him, once he reserved for Lewis alone, one that took him back to the fights they’d had, and the mistakes they’d made. And try as he might, he wasn’t infallible at keeping all of this hidden beneath the surface. 

“Nico, you have to tell me what’s wrong,” Vivian, now his wife, finally said to him, towards the end of their holiday. There was only so many sullen silences and pensive moods she could take before she worried, thinking that perhaps it went beyond the usual stress of the season. Lying on a sun lounger, the hot afternoon sun beating down on his back, and the crystalline sea stretching out as far as he could see, he felt guilty for not being happier. He felt Vivi’s hand on his back, warmth spreading from her fingers and her palm, a gesture of comfort that he accepted willingly.

“It’s just not been an easy season,” he admitted, skirting around the truth like he often did in his own head, omitting the one glaring reason for the dampener on his mood. Sitting up, he turned to face her, feeling his shoulders sag and the tension ease from his back when he looked upon her face, lit up with love and concern. It made him wish he could let Lewis go, both on the track and off it. 

“That’s it?” she asked, delicately, and it became all too apparent that she wasn’t being fooled, not ever. But there was a shame that came with the truth, he didn’t want to say it out loud. He couldn’t, he could ruin what he had with Vivian, and he couldn’t jeopardise what he had left with Lewis.

“That’s it,” he lied, and the look in her eyes told him she knew it.

When he finished the first race back after the break, the Belgian Grand Prix, he thought back to that conversation on the beach. He wondered whether talking might have helped, whether laying his heart bare would have stopped the lapse in judgement, whether it would have defused the pressure cooker in his head that had finally blown. For years to come he’ll be able to recall, with painful clarity, how he pushed it too far, and how, in the moment before it happened, he knew it was over, and that one of them would be paying the price for his thoughtlessness. When Lewis continued for a few more laps he thought perhaps he would finish the race and the fallout wouldn’t be so bad. He should have known better than to even think fate would give him that.

His championship challenge needed that podium, but it couldn’t disguise the anxiety that built as he knew what awaited him in the post-race debrief. The press was easier to deal with than Lewis, Toto and Niki. 

By the time he arrived, Lewis was waiting for him, not something that happened often, but he’d had plenty of waiting around to do. Unsurprisingly, he did not look at Nico as he took his seat. Sitting on their chairs, their two bosses stood in front of them, arms folded with faces like thunder, Nico felt like a schoolboy called to the headmaster’s office.

“Well?” Toto finally said to Nico, expectantly, holding his arms out, “Lewis has told us what he thinks. Now it’s your turn.” 

Every atom in his being wanted to turn to Lewis, even if it was just to glance upon his face and get some idea of what he was thinking, what he was feeling. But that would be almost as big of a mistake as he made on the track.

“I didn’t see any harm in trying to overtake, so I went for it,” he said, simply. Nico was painfully aware of how reedy and thin his voice sounded, so false, so pathetic. It wasn’t a lie, but it was a poor excuse.

“Didn’t see any harm,” Niki snorted, responding to the explanation in his typical brash fashion.

“I was wrong,” he admitted, though that much was obvious. Lewis shifted next to him, and Nico couldn’t stop himself from glancing right, studying Lewis’ profile in the second he allowed himself. His expression was impassive, a masquerade of indifference that told the story of his anger all too clearly to Nico. Lewis was staring straight ahead, not giving Nico the gift of his attention.

“Evidently,” Toto said, sounding almost as angry as Lewis looked, “Look this has to stop.”

Nico wanted to argue that it hadn’t been malicious, that in his wildest dreams he wouldn’t intentionally jeopardise the team, and it was even more unthinkable to him that he should put Lewis in harm’s way. But there was little use in saying all of this.

“Okay,” was the only response he could muster.

“Lewis?” Toto prompted, finally bringing Nico’s teammate into the conversation.

“Sure, whatever,” he muttered, sounding a little petulant, but his voice was strained, telling a story of pain and hurt hidden underneath the façade.

Toto and Niki seemed to guess that was the best they were going to get out of their drivers on that occasion, because the two of them shuffled from the room, heads bent together, murmuring in low voices about something that sounded an awful lot like ‘damage control’. It wasn’t until Nico watched the door swing shut behind them that he realised he’d been left alone with Lewis, and he knew his bosses too well to think it was anything but intentional. They wanted the two of them to talk it out, but Nico didn’t think he had the words. He turned his head slowly to face Lewis, apprehensive about what he might find when he looked at him, scared because he felt so ashamed and guilty. He’d been so desperate to win, to finally beat Lewis, and he’d hurt him, again.

He didn’t expect to find a pair of deep brown eyes staring back at him, positively glowing with intensity, accusing and pleading with Nico all at once. They shined with raw emotion, the kind Lewis didn’t show so often, so unadulterated and pure. Nico found it bizarre that people thought of him as the more careful and calculated one of the two of them, because at times like this he was reminded of how much Lewis held back, and how powerful it was when he felt freely.

“Why did you do it?” he finally asked, not moving his eyes from Nico’s, who wanted so badly to look away, but found himself unable to. The words made his cheeks flame, the shame returning, as he saw the betrayal flickering in Lewis’ eyes.

“I didn’t think…” he started, the excuse poised on his tongue, but he realised that Lewis wasn’t going to have that, that he wouldn’t accept any of that PR bullshit.

“No you didn’t,” he said, a perfunctory statement that ended all possibilities of Nico rectifying the situation. Lewis stood, his hands buried deep within the pockets of his racing suit, head bowed as though in prayer, but Nico could see the wired tension in the muscles of his back. He knew that he was fighting against the dangerous blend of emotions that bubbled in his chest, Nico could feel it reflected in himself.

“Lewis it was just racing,” as soon as the words left his mouth, he knew they were wrong. Clumsy and awkward, they didn’t sound like the words of a man who understood the magnitude of what he had done, though he felt it keenly. He had stood, and intended to put a hand on Lewis’ shoulder, but when he saw his head snap upwards, he retracted the hand and withdrew.

“Just racing,” he repeated, the words sounding choked, like they’d gotten stuck in his throat, “It’s not just racing when it’s you and me.”

When he looked at Nico, he could see how his eyes shined, not with anger, but with sadness. He had been blind to assume their rivalry hadn’t affected Lewis the same as it affected him. Of course it did. Of course everything felt personal, deeper than _just racing_ , it couldn’t be any other way with them.

“I didn’t mean it to be more than a badly timed move, it wasn’t personal, nothing like that,” Nico tried to explain, but he wasn’t going to get anywhere, he could see that as soon as he began to speak.

“It feels personal Nico!” Lewis raised his voice for the first time, his control finally slipping.

“You shouldn’t take it that way!” Nico snapped in response, but he knew it wasn’t that simple, he knew that from his own experience.

“If I’m in love with you I can’t help but take it that way!”

Lewis’ words left Nico dumbfounded, his mouth open, eyes wide, the shock running through his veins from his toes to his head. He struggled for air, the sensation that someone was twisting his heart and his lungs overwhelmed him, making it difficult to think past the words; _I’m in love with you_. He felt his own heart’s response immediately, in the deepest recesses of his mind; _I’m in love with you too_. The combined numbness from realising that it was blindingly obvious they were in love with each other was electrifying, he’d just been too scared, too proud to admit, or even see it. He should have known old teenage feelings couldn’t melt into nothing, that every time he slept with Lewis that shuddering in his heart wasn’t lust, but love. Part of him wanted to hold onto that feeling for what it was, but the rest of him knew it would be easier to go back to pretending his feelings were physical only, to let his jealousy and bitterness take over.

“You…” he stammered, looking every part the fool. His reaction seemed to have thrown Lewis off balance, perhaps he’d assumed Nico knew, maybe he didn’t live in the same kind of deep denial that Nico did, hiding his feelings from everyone including himself. With an anguish and desperation that Nico had felt so many times before Lewis pressed a hard kiss to his lips, gripping his waist with one arm, and holding his upper arm with the other.

The feelings it stirred were ones Nico hadn’t felt so fully since he was eighteen. Completely off guard he understood that he never had, and he never would, stop loving Lewis, there was no erasing what had grown out of childhood infatuations and the messy love affair they’d conducted as young adults. It made his heart thud in terror, and his brain explode with a thousand different thoughts, some beautiful, some horrifying. Despite all that, his mind was not in command of his body, which kissed Lewis back with hunger.

“Say it,” Lewis whispered in between frantic kisses, his words mingling with his breath, “Please just say it.”

Nico thought back to the last time he’d said those words, six years ago, when he’d been starved of Lewis for so long, and craving him with every atom of his being. It was different then, but he still felt the same. And yet, the words wouldn’t come.

“I can’t,” he said, his voice cracking, still trying to kiss Lewis like he was oxygen and Nico was dying to breathe. So much was put at stake by saying those words, he didn’t have the strength to put his heart on the line, not anymore. He didn’t say _I don’t,_ he didn’t tell him _I don’t love you,_ and they both knew that he did, but Nico couldn’t let those words spill forth.

The most awful thing about his words were that they finally caused Lewis to break. A sob, the smallest he’d ever heard, escaped his lips, breaking their kiss, and even before Nico could pull away he felt the hot tear from Lewis’ eye fall onto his cheek. It broke his heart to hear and feel that, far more than hearing Lewis tell people they weren’t friends did. Closing his eyes, Nico swallowed, not daring to pull away, letting Lewis have that, trying to save his dignity.

“You’re a fucking coward,” was all Lewis muttered, sounding angry and broken all at once, his bruised lips still pressed to Nico’s, the hand around his upper arm tightened, letting Nico feel and see all of the mess he’d made without even needing to open his eyes. 

“I know,” he murmured, chancing another kiss, lighter than before, and softer than ever, “I know.”

There was so much love and hate between them that Nico’s mind didn’t know what to do, he couldn’t settle on what he felt, he could read people so well and now he couldn’t even read himself. Everything felt foreign to him, his skin, his heart, his mind. Lewis left the room without another word, and Nico couldn’t watch him go, only opening his eyes when he heard the door slam shut. He knew Lewis hated him, but he also knew he loved him, and Nico didn’t know how it was possible to find such juxtaposing emotions mashed next to each other, but he felt it in himself too.

They were twenty-nine when they realised that the only reason they will ever hate each other, is because they love each other first.


	7. thirty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning that this chapter discusses the death of Jules Bianchi in some detail, so if that affects you particularly strongly then I advise you perhaps don't read it.  
> Thank you!

They’re almost thirty and they’re met with a reality check too terrible to even imagine. It was the new age of Formula One, and it was supposed to be safe, they weren’t supposed to die anymore. But Nico wakes on the morning of July the 17th to find that they’ve lost one of their own. It was Toto who called and broke the news, and Nico just felt numb, the blood rushing from his face, as his heart plummeted, sinking deeper and deeper. When he hung up, his just held his head in his eyes, Vivian’s concerned questions floating over his head, there were a few tears, burning against his skin, but most of what he felt was shock. Because it was just too unfair, too cruel.

“Oh Nico,” Vivian whispered softly, walking from her side of the breakfast table so she could lean down beside him, wrapping an arm around his back, “What is it?”

“It’s Jules.”

Nico wasn’t exceptionally close to the Frenchman, but it was impossible to dislike him, almost unthinkable that you wouldn’t return his blinding smile, and though they may have been competitors, there wasn’t an inch of Nico that wouldn’t miss him in some way. He was one of the good ones, and he didn’t deserve this.

The world kept on turning, even the hectic world of Formula 1, though when the next race came around, it was a world in mourning. Even though there was racing to be done, and life to get on with, Jules was still there in the back of everyone’s mind. It was a horrible reality check, which made Nico realise both how fragile life was, and how arrogant he’d been to think it was okay to succumb to weaker feelings. He’d been pushing all the things that were really important, including his own happiness, and he hated that it had taken this to make him realise that he was wrong, _so wrong_.

Before the race on Sunday there was a minute’s silence, all the drivers on the grid, and Jules’ family. It was one of the heaviest moments Nico had ever experienced in his racing career, the collective weight of their grief weighing on them all as they said goodbye. As the last one to line up, he searched for a gap in the circle, but there was only one place he could stand. Ducking, he wiggled his way in between Lewis and Valterri, wrapping an arm around Lewis’ torso, pulling him probably a little closer than he should have. Ever since Spa the previous year things had been strained between the two of them, too many unsaid words passing between them, the gravity of Lewis’ admission that he was in love with Nico loomed over them, and except for the odd occasion when they were too drunk to care, they remained teammates only. They hadn’t spoken much that week, only nodding at each other from a distance at the funeral, only glancing at each other during the various team meetings. But Nico hoped that this small gesture told Lewis that he still needed him, he would always need him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Lewis’ eyes flicker his way, but Nico just stared ahead, not wanting to break the moment with words, but he had so many he wanted to say, and if this week had taught him nothing but the fact that he couldn’t hide anymore, then that would be enough. Wordlessly, he used his right hand to give Lewis a quick squeeze before they went to collect their helmets and return to the focused headspace they occupied during the races.

Their race was disappointing, average at best, for both of them. A poor start followed by a series of unlucky and unfortunate incidents left the two of them down in sixth and eighth. Their already sombre moods turned duller still, and by the time they reached the post race debrief, their heads hung low and both of them wanted nothing more than to leave the weekend behind.

“There’s always Spa,” was the upshot of all their talks. They simply had to get up and start again, “It’s been a tough weekend for everyone, just rest up and we’ll start with a clean slate.”

A clean slate sounded like something Nico very much needed, not just in his championship challenge, but in many other things too. Toto and Niki led him and Lewis from the room, the four of them quiet, no small talk or menial chatter to fill the silence. Toto and Niki carried on down the corridor without so much as a backwards glance at their drivers, on their way to more important things. But there was something that made Nico and Lewis hang back, like somewhere on their own personal wavelength, Lewis had picked up the signals that something had changed with Nico, like he could sense the shift in his mind set.

“You okay?” Lewis asked suddenly, his voice a little unsure, and his question did take Nico by surprise. He couldn’t tell if he was referring to the race, or the passing of Jules, or any other combination of things, but asking after each other’s wellbeing after a race wasn’t something they did, ever. The race was the race, and they were them, and it didn’t work when they let their on track and their off track relationships merge. Maybe that was where they were going wrong.

“Yeah I’m fine,” Nico said a little too quickly, running a hand through his hair, trying hard to ignore how the genuine concern had softened all of Lewis’ features.

“Heading back to Monaco tonight?” Lewis prodded, taking their small talk way further than it had ever gone before. The whole conversation was so bizarre, the kind Nico only had with the other drivers, or friendly journalists. Friendliness wasn’t in their joint vocabulary. They only knew how to be at each other’s throats or delving into something far deeper than they should.

“Um no, no, I’m staying at the hotel one more night. I fly back tomorrow,” he said, trying to sound like he wasn’t feeling entirely awkward.

“Yeah same,” Lewis said quietly, and Nico thought he knew what he was getting at. But this wasn’t their usual way of going about things, and it threw him. But he asked anyway, because he couldn’t say no, not at that time.

“Did you want to…?” he prompted Lewis, noting how he wasn’t looking at him anymore, but somewhere above his left shoulder, at the wall behind him.

“Yes,” and it was Lewis’ turn to answer too quickly, too eagerly. A deep part of Nico’s mind flared in pleasure at hearing that tone in his voice, the fucked up, dysfunctional part of him that liked the mess they’d made of themselves, that craved it and couldn’t live without it. He worked hard to silence that part of his mind. But he could feel it now.

“Okay,” he agreed, “I’ll see you at nine.”

Lewis nodded and for a moment Nico thought he might say something, but he only nodded again. He hadn’t said no to Lewis, but he had wanted to, more than he had before. He was so tired, so bone achingly exhausted, he didn’t know whether he could find the energy to jump into their usual routine of passion. He wanted Lewis, and he needed him, but for once it wasn’t like that. He needed him the way he’d needed him when he was fifteen, young and scared and hopelessly in love. There was some twisted humour in the fact that nothing had really changed, the events of the past week had scared him, and he’d never felt so young and stupid than he did at thirty, and by god he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t still hopelessly in love with his teammate.

It was five to nine when there was a knock on his door, and Nico tried not to rush to answer it, but he got there in record time. Lewis looked the same as he did earlier, though he’s dressed differently, there was no easy grin on his face, and no fire in his eyes, he looked as tired as Nico felt.

“Hey,” he said by way of greeting, letting Lewis in and shutting the door behind him. He half expected Lewis to turn to him, and grab his face between his hands and just kiss him, resorting to their usual tactics of using sex and their magnetic attraction to forget any problems or worries. Maybe that’s just what Nico wanted him to do.

“Got any beers?” Lewis finally said, not turning to him, but instead he headed towards the minibar in his room, rooting through the shelves before pulling out to cans, keeping one for himself and handing the other to Nico. Something about the gesture stung. Does he have to be drunk to do this now, he wondered, had it gotten that bad. But he took the can anyway, and made his place next to Lewis on the end of his bed, sipping pensively. After a few seconds it became clear Lewis wasn’t going to say anything, so Nico tried his luck.

“Why are you here?” he asked, trying but failing to not sound abrupt. They knew the extent of their feelings towards each other, however much went unsaid, but there were also unspoken rules about the two of them, boundaries that neither of them could remember setting but which stood all the same. The two of them sharing a beer in Nico’s hotel room seemed to transgress all of their rules and boundaries.

“I’m tired, this weekend sucked,” Lewis just shrugged, taking a long sip of his beer before adding, “And drinking beer with you is a lot less sad than drinking it in my room on my own.”

Nico frowned, wondering if there was more than what Lewis had just said, and now he understood Lewis’s frustrations with him. He could never just come out as say how he felt and what he wanted, he had to leave it all hidden in the subtext.

“This whole week has fucking sucked,” Nico agreed, flopping onto his back, placing his can on the floor, and dropping his hands down by his sides.

“Yeah,” was all Lewis murmured.

And then there was silence. It wasn’t the silence he was used to between the two of them. Ordinarily the silence was filled with anger and tension, the kind that would ignite with just one spark. This silence was still charged, but it didn’t feel stifling or necessarily uncomfortable so Nico was happy to let it hang, watching Lewis as he drained the last dregs of his can and ended up lying down on the large bed next to Nico. They were grown men by then, well into the prime of their life, but lying like this was like being little kids again, he could even feel the age old urge to twist around to hook his legs around Lewis’ and reach over to curl an arm around his waist. He had to force himself to bury those thoughts, but he couldn’t quite bury all of them, he didn’t want to, he hadn’t all week. The only problem was that he had so much to say it was impossible to know where to start.

“You know when I heard, it’s awful but the first thing I thought was that it could just as easily have been me, or you,” he blurted out clumsily.

“You mean Jules?” Lewis asked, and Nico could see the quizzical expression on his face when he turned, but he just stared at the ceiling, feeling ashamed and guilty about his selfish confession.

“Yeah. And all I could think was that if it had been you, or me, I’d wasted so much time feeling jealous and scared and lying to myself and everyone else. And how fucking pointless is that? When it’s nothing because it could all disappear by tomorrow,” the more he spoke the harder it was to ignore the rush of everything climbing to the surface at breakneck speed. He wished he’d drank more of his beer so he could blame it on the alcohol, “But that’s so fucking selfish right? Jules and his family got everything taken away from them, he lost the best years of his life, and all I care about is that I’m acting like a coward.”

He was ranting by then, rambling on with no concept of when or if he should stop. His voice began to shake, to quiver, and he was in serious danger of completely losing it if he didn’t stop talking, but Lewis wasn’t making to interrupt him and once again he was still skirting around the obvious truth.

“It’s so unfair. I’m thirty years old and I’m in love with you, and it’s taken _this_ for me to be okay with that, for me to realise that all the other stuff isn’t as important as that. It shouldn’t have, it just shouldn’t have been this way, none of it should.”

Breathing was getting harder and harder for Nico, until he had to sit up, wiping furiously at his face to brush away tears that he wasn’t sure were actually there. He was so consumed by his anger and regret towards himself, and his grief at the cruelty of their sport. He just wished he’d said something sooner, even if he’d done nothing about it, at least it wouldn’t have festered inside him, destroying him from the inside out until he had no option but to let it all come pouring out.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I should have said something in Spa last year, o-or even when you joined Mercedes, there were so many times I should have said something. Just so you knew, just so it was out there. It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Nico was vaguely aware that he was making little sense, in fact he was sure he sounded completely mad. Lewis either didn’t care, or he pitied him for that, because he moved to wrap an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into his side.

“Nico,” was the only word he said and Nico was too past it to even try to work out what he meant by that. Dimly, he felt him press his lips to the top of his head, burying his face in his hair. It was a gesture so gentle, and it made Nico feel so incredibly vulnerable that he wrapped his arms around Lewis, pressing his face to his collarbone and held on so tight it was as though he was trying to fuse their bodies together. It wasn’t a conscious decision to seek comfort from Lewis while he cried, but his body made the actions of its own accord, knowing what he needed.

It was just his breaking point, after everything that had happened. He was too exhausted to think about what he was doing, or care that he was acting like a mess, he would be embarrassed the next day, but that night he would let it happen. Lewis responded instinctively, holding Nico just as tightly, and for that he was glad. Maybe he only did it because he knew how much it took to say those words out loud, or maybe because Jules’ death had forced him to the same realisation. Maybe he was like all members of their community right then, he needed to feel not alone, he needed to know he wasn’t alone in his sadness. Whatever the reason, Nico was glad for it.

His eyes still hadn’t dried when he forced himself to let go and pull away. He could feel how hot his cheeks were, and how sore his eyes felt, Lewis looked positively composed in comparison, though a few tears clung to his eyelashes.

“Please don’t go,” Nico said, his voice sounding thin, wrapping his hand around Lewis’ tugging lightly, like his words alone wouldn’t be enough to get the message across.

“Okay,” Lewis said, and there was a glimmer on his face that let Nico know that he needed and wanted this just as much as he did.

Slowly, the two of them kicked off their shoes, and crawled under the covers, still fully dressed, still with the tear stains on their cheeks. The way they had done when they were so much smaller, Lewis let Nico take his place, his head resting on his chest, his hands pulling Lewis’ arms around him, settling down. He was struck by how natural it felt, like he’d lay like this only yesterday, not years and years ago. It was easier to calm himself with the thudding of Lewis’ heart echoing in his ear, and he didn’t mind in the slightest when Lewis began humming softly under his breath, a coping mechanism he could remember he’d used back when they were karting teammates and he’d felt anxious or homesick. Distantly he wondered which feeling was stirring in his chest to make him do that.

“I wish I could have said it sooner,” Nico whispered, not wanting to break the now pleasant silence which had engulfed the two of them.

“Said what?” Lewis asked, though he was sure he knew, and suspected that he just wanted to hear him say it again.

“That I love you.”

“I wish I could have heard you say that sooner too.”

As sleep came for him Nico knew then, that every time he’d felt so lost, so embittered by the dynamic they’d adopted as adults, this was why. They’d convinced themselves they didn’t need this part of their relationship anymore, that their attraction could be purely physical and that would be okay. But lying there he knew that he needed this more than any other thing, he needed to let himself know it was okay to be in love with Lewis and deal with the consequences. They could worry about the harsh reality of the situation in the morning. They could go back to hating each other, to tiring themselves out with the explosiveness of their relationship, but for now they had what they wanted. And though it had taken fifteen years, he was back where he belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not super happy with the way this one turned out, but I wanted to get another chapter out before the weekend because I'm at a festival so I won't be able to write or post anything for a while :)


	8. thirty one (epilogue).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is relatively short as it serves as an epilogue to tie up all the loose ends and finish up the story, also you can tell from what it revolves around how long ago I started writing this story, ahah.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this and I really hope you've enjoyed it :)

They’re thirty-one when Lewis wakes one morning to find Nico, not in bed beside him, but out on the balcony, elbows resting on the railing, eyes fixed on the horizon, shrouded in the half darkness of dawn. Save for one side of his face, which is illuminated by the rising sun, soft yellow light, pouring over his skin, making his expression impossible to decipher.

 

He doesn’t say anything as Lewis approached, and neither does he. They don’t need to anymore; they know each other so well. One of his hands makes its way onto Nico’s shoulder, where it rests, and his fingers settle in the grooves of his collarbone. It is and always will be second nature, to touch like this, the muscle memory of his hand having memorised every bone, every freckle, every inch of his skin, every inch of his body. Nico would recognise that touch anywhere, he’s known it since he was a boy, and he’ll know it even when his body ages and his mind fades.

 

Together they stare out at the Barcelona cityscape which unfurls beneath them, from the harbour by the coast, to the hills at the west. Standing in perfect silence, it feels a million miles away from the events of the day before. And for that he’s glad. The previous night he’d found it hard to forget the heart wrenching feeling that had ripped through his gut as he’d spun through the gravel, his race coming to a end before the first lap had even been completed.  Acknowledging Lewis’ presence he places his own hand atop his, running his thumb along the uneven line of his knuckles.

 

“Can we just forget that race ever happened?” Lewis asks quietly, before the silence swallows them whole.

 

“Definitely,” Nico agrees nodding, and looking back at his teammate, who wasn’t staring at him, but still out at the horizon. Just comparing how they were reacting now to the fallout after their contact in Belgium two years ago, it was almost terrifying to believe they could actually exist that way. There had been no arguments, no yelling, no trying to fuck out their anger and frustration like they could forget how much they hated in each other if they buried themselves deep enough in the covers.

 

No, there was none of that. The team meeting had been intense, and awful, and loaded with questions neither of them could answer. Calling it a racing incident was the easiest way out, neither of them had to blame the other or themselves. But Nico would never know if Lewis had meant it, or if he’d pushed too hard, those old feelings of hate coming back to haunt them. Leaving the issue unaddressed is the coward’s way out, but it was how they work now.

 

They’re not perfect, and they never will be. It’s coded in their DNA, that they have to be dysfunctional, they have to love with reckless abandon, they have to run in circles, their story ending and beginning at the same place, over and over again. It’s the way they are. And it might be exhausting, but it’s not as bad as it was.

 

They leave too much unsaid, and deep in his bones Nico knows it’s still deeply wrong, it’s unfair to Lewis and to Vivian. If it wasn’t they wouldn’t have to hide or lie. But they still only love in the dark nights when they’re far from home, and far from prying eyes. He still thinks of this as a state of impermanence, yet it’s almost been a year and this time he finds he can live with the routine they’ve settled into. It’s sitting too close as they pour over screens of data, letting their hands ‘accidentally’ brush together as they reach for the keyboard at the same time, it’s the look Lewis gives him before he shuts the visor on his helmet and Nico knows exactly what it means; it says _stay safe_ and _game on_ all at once. It’s their old wounds from childhood arguments that are torn open again and again, every time they fight, harsh words pulling at old scars. But it’s also the _I love you_ , that Nico hears falling from Lewis’ mouth again and again, unguarded, unbidden, that makes him feel fifteen years old, the warmth in his chest that sends him back to another lifetime, another universe.

 

Nico looks back at Lewis, just a glance over his shoulder, and finds him staring, studying the contours of his face. A soft smile plays on his lips, barely there, but it brightens his eyes, he thinks Lewis looks younger than he has in years. But maybe he’s always looked so youthful, and it was only Nico that used to wear him down. They’re old enough now to know how they work best, for both of them.

 

Lewis opens his mouth and for a moment Nico thinks he’s going to say something sentimental or romantic, but he clearly thinks better of it.

 

“You’re going grey you know, just here,” he remarks, moving his hand to brush along Nico’s hairline that ran parallel to his temple. Nico makes a face of mock offense.

 

“Guess I better invest in some of that hair dye you used to like so much,” capturing Lewis’ hand in his grip, he pulls him closer so he can whisper before pressing their lips together, enjoying the feeling of Lewis’ laugh reverberating through his own mouth.

 

“Come back to bed,” Lewis murmurs, trying to pull Nico gently away from the balcony edge and back through the glass doors into the room.

 

“You have to say please,” Nico laughed, but he lets himself be taken away anyway. Because he’s known it since he stood on that podium in second place when he was twelve years old; he was never going to learn how to say no to Lewis.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure how many chapters this will have yet, I've written four so far which tend to be much longer than this one, and have at least three more planned, so we'll have to see how it goes. Thanks for reading!


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